if you could only see the beast you made of me

sometimes i think i know how frankenstein's monster must have felt. it's that indignant "but you made me this way" that just swells up inside of you, turning into bitter resentment at the injustice of it all. i'm sorry if i'm a walking reminder of your biggest mistakes, breathing proof of everything you failed to do, but it's not my fault. it isn't. what's done is done. it's too late to change anything now. so maybe before you stitched together fragments of your dying dreams, before you chose the biggest and shiniest opportunities you could find to sew onto the backs of my eyelids and wedge between my ribs, before you went digging through abandoned hope and got drunk off of your own sense of godlike superiority, you should have stopped to think for a moment about what you really wanted aside from the initial glory of accomplishment. because once that bolt of lightening strikes, it's all over. you may not be in control anymore, but you're still responsible. you can't just leave with a look of disgust and a shudder of horror. every mismatched hope, and each stretch where dreams blur with reality, and all the bolts of stubbornness and scars of determination, you put there. it was all you. i am what you made me.

so when you realize that you may have made a mistake, that maybe those weren't the best values to inject into my bloodstream or the best lenses to meld to my eyes or the best compass to guide me, you should also realize that it's too late. and if you can't accept that, well, maybe the monster had it right all along.

*Howl - Florence and the Machine